


be blind to see

by orphan_account



Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Totally Dubious, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-01
Updated: 2006-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The situation had never been within his control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be blind to see

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal. Title nicked off a Deerhoof track.

He stares down at Toffler for a long time, not moving, barely breathing, until he can't stand it a second longer. Toffler's a heavy sleeper and Reich's quick, silent, on him before he can even begin to rouse. One hand tight over Toffler's mouth and the other pressing his shoulder into the thin mattress of the cot, not lying on top of him but as good as in the tiny space.

Toffler wakes flailing, kicking, shouting under the hand as he grabs at Reich's shoulders, shoving with all his strength. Then, upon realizing who it is that's got him, calms to just harsh breath and wild eyes, all big and brown and confused in the soft yellow lantern light.

There is a moment, looking into those eyes, where he wonders if he's gone mad. If doing this means he's lost his mind. If all the crystal clear imaginings that have been in his head from the first but only increased in their furious effort to devour his every waking thought since the monotony of winter set in have been only small madness compared to this. But then the moment passes and he can feel nothing but the heat coming off Toffler's thin frame and his own blood rushing in his veins and he can't seem to care if he's mad or not.

"Quiet." He hisses, dragging his eyes away from Toffler's face and down his body as he shoves away the blankets and pushes his hand up underneath Toffler's shirt. Sliding his palm over warm, smooth skin, touching what he has only seen a handful of times, Toffler's Good Christian sense of modesty preventing him from going about unclothed for longer than strictly necessary. His fingertips trace around the dip of Toffler's navel and then down, down, down, and Toffler inhales sharply, tensing, his fingers digging into Reich's shoulders but he doesn't try to push away.

He wants to ask if this is the first time that anyone has touched Toffler this way. Just because he _could_ , not because he thinks anyone ever has -- he _knows_ better. Toffler's timid, innocent nature, the bright flush to his cheeks at those jokes Cleaves loves, the way he seems so _hungry_ sometimes, like he's _starving_ for something. The way he buries his face in his little notebook, humming to himself and scritch, scritch, scratching away not quite quick enough for Reich to miss him looking.

He's lost track of how many times he's thought of telling Toffler that there's more to life than his precious hymns but the words have never made it farther than his throat. Because what does he know of _life_? He's been a soldier since he was strong enough to shoot without falling over from the force of it, he knows commands and orders and how to kill a man with a gun or a knife or his own hands. He doesn't know _life_ any more than Toffler.

He knows this though. He knows fucking. He knows want and lust and need. He knows the desperate craving that wakes him in the night, leaves his muscles taut as a bowstring to cross the space between their cots and quiet the small, desperate sounds Toffler makes as he pulls himself off.

Pushing his hand under the waistband of Toffler's underwear, he grinds his teeth to keep from making a sound as Toffler jerks and makes a low noise in the back of his throat. His heart thumps hard in his chest as his fingers slip over Toffler's hot, half-hard cock. Toffler wrenches his head to the side, trying to get loose of the hand covering his mouth but unable because, if he were to say no, stop, don't, Reich doesn't know if he could actually obey. He thinks it's best not to risk it.

He didn't intend for it to come this far, he didn't intend for it to happen at all. He's fought it for months, the ache just below the surface like a tooth gone poorly -- not enough to hurt at first, not enough that you can't push it away, but as the days wear on the feeling becomes unbearable, inescapable, all-encompassing. The situation, he'd realized while watching Toffler sleep, had never been within his control. It was always only a matter a time before it would have to have been dealt with. Just like a tooth.

His fingers curl around Toffler's cock, slipping up and sliding back down loosely a few times, and then firmer, tighter, intent clear. Toffler's chest heaves, his hips jerking, twitching, his breathing loud and his breath hot and the palm of Reich's hand is wet with spit where his lips have parted. Toffler keeps his fingernails short, neat, clean, fit to regulation, but Reich is sure that they've broken the skin yet.

He strokes smoothly, not quickly but not slowly just efficiently, twisting his wrist at the tip and squeezing at the base. He can hear himself breathing, he realizes, loud and hard, even over the skin-on-skin sounds and the wanton noises Toffler keeps making. It's a shock and it sends him back into his body like a punch, into actually _feeling_ it and not just using it. He is tense, he realizes then, straining for or against something, and his cock is hard, painfully hard, and he is rubbing himself against Toffler's hip.

His breath catches, he tries to hold back the moan and almost manages it, squeezing his eyes shut at the first true recognition of feeling, the first true understanding of what is happening. It feels like something cracks inside him as the hot burn of friction races up his spine, resolve or the last fragile string of believed control, and he looks up at Toffler's face for the first time since he told him to be quiet. His mouth gapes a little on words that won't come, the enormity of what he's doing, cannot stop, sticking them to the roof of his mouth. He takes in the flushed, sweating skin and furrowed eyebrows, Toffler's eyes almost completely black and full of something that Reich has never seen there in all the half-glances and caught stares, something darker and more intense.

He can't move, can't think, can't even blink, can only stare at half of Toffler's face that isn't obscured by his own hand. He doesn't even flinch as one of Toffler's hands loosens on his shoulder and reaches up to the Reich's hand covering his mouth, tugging it free. Toffler sucks in a deep, shuddering breath and, still looking right at him, twists awkwardly until his thin, shirt-covered chest is pressing against Reich's broader, naked one.

Toffler's hands shake as they slip up to his neck, over his jaw, fingertips ghosting over and behind his ears and then pushing into his short hair. Tilting Reich's head up as he shifts down until their forehead's touch. Toffler breathes against his mouth, nervous but still sure somehow, and Reich can't remember the last time he kissed anyone, can't imagine he ever wanted to as badly as this.

It's clumsy at first, he is too forceful, he wants it too much, and he wouldn't be surprised if Toffler had never kissed anyone in his life, but Toffler's hands in his hair and Toffler's cock in his hand and, somehow, it works yet. Toffler is enthusiastic in a way that gives the impression he wants desperately to find every sensitive spot in Reich's mouth. His tongue is slick and hot and tastes like sleep and lust and confusion all mixed together and the hair on his face itches in a way that makes Reich's insides seem to squirm. He pulls back, a soft sound on Toffler's lips as he renews his attention to stroking him off, licking at Toffler's mouth, biting at his bottom lip, and then letting their tongues slide together again.

He groans into Toffler's mouth and the hoarse sound of Toffler's in return is almost enough to undo him right then. He reaches up blindly, grasping Toffler's wrist tightly and pulling down, until Toffler's fumbling fingers free the buttons on his trousers and Toffler's hand is pushing in, sweaty palm slipping over his cock.

Toffler's fingers wrap around and squeeze on instinct, mouth wet and open as he pants hotly against Reich's mouth, his hips jerking forward, hard and awkward in that way that virgins have, as he maps out a clumsy rhythm with his fist. It's been forever since there's been a hand on his cock that wasn't his own and he's thought of Toffler's enough that it is nothing short of perfect. Slick with sweat and tight from the awkward angle and he pushes his hips forward, thrusting into Toffler's grip, urging Toffler faster with breath and motion and the speeding pace of his own fist.

He presses his forehead hard against Toffler's, sweat in his eyes and their noses bumping as the cot makes dangerous sounds beneath them, jerking and shaking in ways it was not built for. And, for a moment, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hopes that it doesn't break before they've finished. Then, gritting his teeth into a wicked sort of smile as Toffler tenses, gasping, he realizes that the cot won't have the chance unless it hurries.

Toffler whimpers when he comes, Reich knows this because he's listened to it more times than he cares to put a number on. But up close, it's different. Just the barest inch apart and Toffler not trying to quiet himself with bitten lips or fists, too shocked by the overwhelming feeling like falling that comes from release at another's touch for the first time to even attempt to disguise the sounds. Thick, sticky wetness spurting over his wrist and Toffler's grip on his cock loosening as he shakes and jerks through it, and Reich squeezes his eyes shut, breathing every breath that Toffler gasps out.

He waits until Toffler relaxes, seeming to sag forward as he pants for breath, to pull his hand free from Toffler's underwear and push it down into his own trousers, twisting his slick fingers with Toffler's and bringing himself off quickly with both their hands. He opens his eyes afterward, feeling relaxed for the first time in months if sticky, then feeling strange when he sees Toffler looking at him, staring. He waits for Toffler to say something, even in his exhaustion preparing himself to defend. But Toffler says nothing, his eyebrows furrow hard, his mouth twists up as though he _wants_ to speak, but nothing comes. And he takes a deep breath, swallowing hard, feeling suddenly unsure, when Toffler finally looks away, silent still as he pulls their hands up out of Reich's trousers, leans into him, and just breathes.

He looks down at Toffler's hair, wet with sweat and sticking up at odd angles, like in so many of the fantasies he's had since that day in May that Toffler arrived, all awkward handshakes and nervous eyes. He listens to him breathe, soft and shallow and then, slowly, deeper and more even. As the comfortable drowsiness slides over him like a warm blanket, he tells himself that he'll wait just another few more minutes, just until Toffler is truly asleep, and then pull himself together, get up, and go back to his own cold, empty cot miles and miles across the room.

In the morning, he untangles himself carefully from Toffler's sleeping, sprawling form, berating himself for falling asleep there as he rubs at his sore muscles. He stretches, scratches at his stomach, the dried remains of the night before itching his skin as the cold air and fresh memory make him shiver. He dresses silently, doing up his trousers, pulling on his shirt and jacket, and trying to resist the urge to strip it all off again and climb back under Toffler's warm blankets.

Just as he sits down on his cot to pull on his boots, Toffler makes a soft sound and shifts in his sleep. He looks up without thinking and is caught for a moment, stuck staring at the dark, curling hair and the strip of pale skin exposed at the back of Toffler's neck. And in that moment, he can't help smiling at the notion that after two years stuck in this godforsaken hellhole, he's finally found something to make the winters bearable.


End file.
